Wednesday, July 27, 2011

A Pre-War Poem

Hej!


This weekend I head to War!  In Cooper's Lake Campground, near Butler/New Castle, PA, the SCA will be holding the 40th edition of the Pennsic War and I'll be there with 12,000 of my closest friends.  For those of you who will be there, look for me around Highrafters Camp or at Heralds Point or the Pennsic University where I'll be teaching.  I also suspect that I'll bring home more poetry and a continuation of the Haakon Saga (the Pennsic atmosphere seems to be conducive to writing), as well as various new possessions.


Today, in advance of vacation, I'm posting short verse.


The first, "The Silk Flood" (a verse meant to be the stef describing a poet's work) is written in a form Snorri calls iðurmæltr "repeatedly said", an echoic verse in which the last emphasized syllable in each line is echoed in the first syllable of the next.  An example from the Old Icelandic corpus (Heilagra meyja drápa ‘Drápa about Holy Maidens’, verse 5):



Sæt Máría gjǫrði at gráta 
gráti mædd í sonarins láti,

lát Júðanna fældi at fljóði,

fljóðit horfði á krossinn rjóðan;

rjóðandi þá flaut ok flóði

flóð táranna niðr um móður,

móður brjóstit strengt af stríði

stríðit bar sem engi síðan.


My verse:


segðú fjöl-dýr silk-Syf 
silki-röddu brodda 
broddinn riða brandéls 
brandi-æfi væfi.
vefari af vill-draumr 
draum-maðr fekk inn-saumar 
saumlauss féll straumr-silki 
silki-blaut þinn hlaup-mál 


Prose order translation:


speak glorious silk-Syf [POET] / 
silken-voice goads us / 
goading fever of sword storms / 
sword-ages you weave / 
weaver of the wild dream / 
the dreamer grasps the seams / 
seamless flows the silk-stream / 
silky smooth your word-flood.

English translation:

Speak o glorious silk-Syf
Silken voices fill us -
Filled with sword din's fever 
Fevered tales you're weaving.
Weaver of our wild dreams
Dreamers grasp your seemings
Seamless runs the silk-stream
Silky-smooth your speeches.


The second pair of lausaversir is from a series of "practice poems" I wrote during last winter, 
exercises to keep my hand in as it were.  It's in English (forgive me, please!).  
The two verses together describe a phenomenon noted by my Laurel - 
morning with a large number of blackbirds roosting in the trees over his car:


Odin's heralds unleash
Untold voices under 
skald-lord's window. Sunna's 
song-thralls end our long sleep.


Rain from war-gulls rattles
Wrath on gold-slopes Hrafni
Fire-drake shivers frightened
Flees from corse-hawks leavings


Hope you enjoy these.  Comments are gratefully accepted!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

A Second New Project

There are more tales to be told than I can shake a stick at.  The next one is a series of þáttir "strands" concerning a great góði  "chieftain" named Haakonr Thorvadarsson.  Once again, as previously, I am taking a persona from the SCA ad fictionalizing his life.   Those who know Haakonr eiki-hæstr "oak-tall" will recognize certain elements herein.  For the rest, this is a brief attempt at a þáttr.  I apologize in advance for any of the grammar that is wrong or the vocabulary that doesn't quite work.

As always, your comments and kind corrections are gratefully accepted and appreciated.

===========================================

Haakonr saga eiki-hæstr

Það bar til að það var, í sumar að hann varð maður og var sextán ára gamall, Haakon, vera yngri son sem þarf til að fara ok finna leið sína í heiminum. Þannig var það að, hann gekk til hafnar ok gerði einn þrjár sumar félag með Olafr sels-eista, einn vikingr mikill. þann dag sem hann var að fara, á mær hann elskaði, Elin hrafn-lokkar, kom með hann til skips. Haakon sór að hann myndi koma aftur til hennar eftir þrjú ár ok vildi koma aftur örlög nóg fyrir hana brúður-verð. Elin stóð sterk ok lofaði hún myndi bíða eftir honum.

Þá mælti Haakonr:

Svan-ligr Elin sven-gam
svart-hárr tók mitt hjarta
lind-líns minns lang-náttar
lauf-léttr fylla með draumum.
ár minns styra óðar
íðir klár-vígr blíðr
at ek varða ástar
okkar dreki götvar

Haakonr sigldi með Ólafi að árstíð ok tvö, víking þorpum í Vestrlönd. Haakon var maðr sterk ok hæstr. Hann var vígr-vel einnig. Hann lærði verkefni skipið hratt ok varða sjó-vanr. At skömmu, hann var meiri en aðrir menn ok var hét eiki-hæstr, nafn sem hann hélt þar til hann dó. Hann var vitrastr sumar-liði ok sterkastr brand-maðr, ok sels-eista dró hann víð her-foringa. Haakon öðlaðisk einn lang-skip olaf-nautr, nafn-gipta Visundr. Haakon ok Olafr vikingu í Vestrlönd ok kaupu með austr-riki. Þeir váru auð-kýfingar. Allr var eiki frið-samr. Konungr-Haralds óvini géngu á lang-skipar. Haraldr skorar á Olaf ok Haakon. Margr orrostu-slög Haakon barði ok Visunds-höfn vann margr sigar.

Svá segir skaldi:

Djarft neyttir þú, dróttinn
dolgstrangr, skipa langra,
af því at ýtar hǫfðu
austr sjau tøgu flausta;
suðr gnauðuðu súðir,
segl hýnd við stag rýndu;
vík skar vandlangt eiki,
Visundr hneigði þrǫm sveigðan.

Eptir þrjú ár í þjónustu við Ólaf, Haakonr var auðugur maður, eiga skip til viðskipta ok fær um að stjórn a vænn áhöfn sterk ung stríðsmaður. Hann vildi ekki meira af hernaði lífsins, svo Haakon aftur til síns heima. Hann kom með hann að mikilli örlög af gulli og skartgripum, pillzir ok silki, lín ok kotungr. Hann seldi það sem hann þarf, pakkað upp hvíld og fór að leita á Elin hrafn-hárr, dottir af Aron Bjarnarsson, einn goði mikill. Með honum, Haakonr tók bróðir hans, Boris ´dreki-bani´, öflugur kappi. Haakon klæddist kyrtil af skarlati með hnöppum gulli, ok ól sverð með gulli hjalt. Hann klæddist svartan hatt með stafnhalla gulli. Boris fjallað Aron ok brátt þeir voru sammála um samning og brúðar - verð að Haakon myndi gefa fyrir hönd Elin er. Aron samráð dóttir hans, sem gjarnan samið. Arnór gaf bænum að Haakon og Elin, svo að þeir gætu býrð nálægt honum. Veisla var haldin tveimur vikum seinna ok svo Haakon sonur Þorvalds, sem kallast "eiki-hæstr" kom til að vera sonur-í-lög godi ok ríkur ok öflugur maður í eigin rétti sínum.

Translation

It came to pass, in the summer that he become a man and made sixteen years, that Haakon, being the younger son, needed to go to find his way in the world. Thus, he went to the harbor and made a contract with Olaf seal-testicle, a great Viking. On the day he was to leave, the maiden he had courted, Elin raven-locks, came with him to the ship. Haakon swore to her that he would return after three winters and would bring back fortune enough to pay her bride-price. Elin stood strong and promised she would wait for him.

He spoke these words:

Lovely Elin “Dream-joy”
black-haired took my heart
linden of linens my long-nights
leaf-light filled with dreams
Oar my steers of poetry
thoughts clumsy joyous
as I guard love
ours a dragon treasure

(Elin, black-haired dream-joy, took my heart. The linden of linens (>WOMAN) filled my nights with leaf-light dreams. My clumsy oar of poetry (>TONGUE) steers joyous thoughts. As a dragon treasure, I guard our love.)

Haakon sailed with Olaf that season and two more, raiding villages in the Western Isles. Haakon was strong and tall and knew his way around weapons. He soon learned the tasks of the ship as well. As he grew taller, he topped many men and was called oak-tall, a name he kept until his last days. He grew in wisdom as well as stature, and seal-eye made him his second. Haakon came to command his own vessel, which he named Visun. He and Olaf and their crews raided in the Westen Isles and traded in the eastern lands, becoming wealthy men.

But all was not peaceful. here were enemies of Olaf's lord, King Haraldr, on the seas and at home. When Haraldr called for Olaf's service, Haakon sailed with him as well. Many battles were fought and the crew of the Visun won many fights, destroying the enemies ships.

As the skald says:

(You used long-ships boldly, battle-strong lord, as men steered seventy vessels eastward. Strakes roared south; high-hoisted sails talked with the forestays; the tall-lasted oak sliced the sound. Visundr plunged its curved tail)

After three years in service to Olaf, Haakon was a wealthy man, owning a ship for trading and able to command a goodly crew of strong, young warriors. He wanted no more of the raiding life, so Haakon returned to his home. He brought with him a great fortune of gold and jewels, furs and silks, linens and cottons. He sold what he needed, packed up the rest and went in search of Elin raven-hair, daughter of Arnor son of Bjorn, a chieftain. With him, Haakon took his brother, Boris son of Thorvald, known as "dragons-bane" for his prowess at war. Haakon wore a tunic of scarlet, with gold buttons, and bore a sword with a gold hilt. He wore a black hat with gold trim. Boris dealt with Arnor and soon they were agreed on a contract and a bride--price that Haakon would give for Elin's hand. Arnor consulted his daughter, who gladly agreed. Arnor gave a farm to Haakon and Elin, that could live close by him. The feast was held two weeks later and so Haakon son of Thorvald, called "Oak Tall" came to be the son-in-law of a godi and a rich and powerful man in his own right.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

THE NEW PROJECT

Ok.  I promised that I'd give you the first part of THE NEW PROJECT™ as soon as I finished it.  Well, given that nothing is ever truly finished, here it is.  This is an attempt at writing a piece of a prose saga, a þættr (short story), if you like.  It is very loosely based on the early days of the four shires in Western New York and Pennsylvania, or the Western Regions: the Debateable Lands, Thescorre, the Rhydderich Hael, and Myrkfaellin.  Please note that I said very loosely.  Thus its names: Fylkis saga vestrmarki  "The Saga of the Shires of the West-Marches".  The notion is that we find most OI verse interpolated and inserted into prose passages.  So, this is an attempt to shows what that would look like.  Actually, in a manuscript, it would look like this: GKS 1009 folio 5r with the verse written like prose.

My two greatest fears are: first, I got the vocabulary wrong.  Idiomatic language can be rough.  Second, and greatest, that I completely got the grammar wrong.  If you read OI and can help me with gentle commentary and correction, I'll greatly appreciate and gratefully accept it.

So, here you go, first in my attempt at OI; then, in English.


Fylkis saga vestrmarki  Chapter One (Fyrstr Kapital )

Langt síðan, það bar til að það var strííð á meðai inn fykis vestrmarkar ok reyfarar. Inn máttkar fyrðar af Hrafn-heim ok fylkingar Hala-stjarna ok is-drekki her-lið gnáttu með inn kussarar.  Hræs lanar hlaðit.  Úlfar hákku ok hrafnar háfu sam-drykkja.  Fengu úsigr fylkis-folk.   Válandi fólka heyrði megin konungr austan-verðr.  Sín drottning syrgði af angist þeirra.  Sendi inn konungr sín goðr riddari leggja á grið ok frið.  Þannig var það að Friðrekr mattkar siglað til vestrmark. Svá inn gamli segir:

1. Friðrek ræsir fremð inn
frið-skjöldri gráskegg vissin
haf-skip siglir  hlyðir 
humra til Austur rumlend.
Metendr leiða morgum
morðáls til villi-borgar;
öskranfossdœl ásetta
ískaldr reista dísasalr.

2. Siglt of uppdal stag lautr
sildar Traunda strauma.
Telgjaðr drekka til-eygðr
tingls-marr gulla þinga.
Barða höggorms byrskíð
bakað á fjördr blákald.
Mikil-sigr vannt á móti
merglauss þar reyfarar

Flyði á skipgengum höf til vesturs lendir reyfarar bautinn, meðan Friðrekr setja í brandr þorpar þeirra.  Frið-görvir drengi-ligr inn þrið-fylkis sam-einaði ok af þeirra fólk-tjaldum  ein fylkingarr-brodd flykaut.  Inn fylkis-fólk sinn gagni faginn ok báðu Frederick þeirra konung.  Svá skaldi segir:

3. Pruðr, vask með þér, þjóðann, 
þat haust frá komt austan; 
einn, stillir, mátt alla 
jǫrð hegna, svá fregnið; 
himin þóttisk þá heiðan 
hafa, es landa krafðir, 
ljos-bera, ok lifðir, 
landfolk tekit hǫndum.

Hann ferðaðist síðan fótgangandi ok á hestbaki.  Hann könnuðu hæðum oc dala,  eptir-leitan fyrir einn huldu-fanz af eldr-sǫgu.  Eptir marg-nátta, hann fundinn einn myrkfælsdala innan grœn-holt oc vatna-djúp.  Þar lifði folk all-froðu.  Þau hlýðusk á konunginn oc kom þat ásamt með þeim.  At þessu, svörðu hollustu-eiðr á Friðrek konung.   Fyrstr-konunginn var mönnum mikil öfuss á því.

Hann siglt sex í norðr, upp lœkar oc þjóðár, til haf inn-landi, oc skip-farað til sinn heim.  Loks heim, einn mikill fagnaðar-öl þeir fagnað þat allir ok sérhverir drekkað eitt öldr.  Friðrek var hjarta-prúðast konnunga.  Svá inn gamli segir:

4. Sal þin var upp sendir 
    seima til al-beimar.
    Veitir pella veizlan
    val-born kema hábarð.
    Hunangsbára hornar
    heðra drakk í gleði.
    Rota húfur roskinn
    risnu-maðr hávaði.

Translation:

Long ago, it happened that there was strife between the Western-forest shires and pirates.  The mighty firth of Raven-home, the Tail-Star army, and the Ice-Drake troops clashed with the Corsairs.  Corpses piled grew.  Wolves gorged and ravens caroused.  The shire-folk suffered. The mighty king of the Eastern Lands heard the people´s wailings.  His queen mourned for their anguish. The king sent his good knight to impose truce and peace.  Thus it was that might Frederick sailed to the West-march.  As the ancient skald says:

(Verse 1) Grizzled grey-beard Frederick the "Peace-Shield" advancer of honor, you sailed the warship from the lobster-slopes [OCEANS] to the Eastern lands.  You lead many testers of the battle eel [SWORD > WARRIORS] to the wild hills; you settled in the ice-cold valley of the roaring waterfall; you built a temple.

(Verse 2) You sailed the ox of the hollows of the herring [SHIP] Trundle across inland streams.  You carved the squint-eyed Dragons golden fleet (tingls-marr-þinga > SHIP-THING > FLEET).  You beat  the vipers breeze-skis [SHIPS] roasted them at the black-waved fjord.  You won a great victory against the marrowless pirates 

The beaten pirates fled far over the inland seas to the west, while the Frederick put fire to their villages.  The brave “peace-maker” brought the three shire-folk together and made an army of their folk-bands.  The people rejoiced in his victory and proclaimed him their king.  As the skald says:

(Verse 3) Brave king, I was with you that autumn when you came from the East; lord, you alone can secure the entire country; that was heard.  The countrymen thought they caught bright heaven with their hands when you claimed the lands, Light-bearer, and were alive.

He then traveled by foot and horseback exploring the hills and dales, searching for a hidden tribe that was rumored in ancient tales.  Among the deep lakes and the green woods, he soon discovered the dark fells dale, where a learned people lived.  These folk heard of the great King and swiftly swore their fealty to him alone.  Frederick, the first king of these lands, was gladdened by this.

He returned to his own home, sailing north on the rivers to the Inland Seas.  Finally home, they held a great joyful feast and all came.  Frederick was the most generous [Hjarta-prúðr  > Valiant hearted > Generous] of kings. As the old-one said:

(Verse 4) Dispenser of gold [GENEROUS MAN] your hall was open to all men.  The well-born came to feast at your high-table, giver of costly materials [GENEROUS MAN].  Horns of honey waves [MEAD] <they> drank here in joy.  Hospitable man you served ripe root-caps [MUSHROOMS].


---------------------------


Finally, a tip of the hat to Jackson Crawford, who is my inspiration to madness.  His most recent posting, Gunnar Fire-Iron, Skáld of the Wild West, is a very good attempt at writing poetry in an ON form.  You should go read it.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Where have I been

I know, I know......Why haven't I turned out some NEW poetry? What's with these "re-runs"? I have no excuses, nor explanations, except that my Muse has been on an extended vacation --- maybe in Guantanamo for all I know.  This may sound lame,but nothing has been strong enough inspiration to overcome various "real-life" that keeps me from writing.

Anyway, you didn't check in here for my kvetching.

So, two things.  Today, I begin writing the Konungs saga vestermarki ("The Saga of the King from the Western Borders").  It is my attempt to present poetry in the form where scholars most often find it - as part of a saga (long prose story).  I intend to write a few chapters from what would be a very long saga of the Four Shires on the Western March.  Each chapter will feature poetry, part of a flokkr of verses concerning the Shires and the Unification of what would later be known as Æthelmearc.


Second, two new verses (new to you, anyway!)  No explanations, just verses and translations.  Enjoy!  and please COMMENT!

Verse One:


Friðrek ræsir fremð inn
Frisi gráskegg vissin
haf-skip siglir  hlyðir 
humra til Austur rumlend.
Metendr leiða morgum
morðáls til villi-borgar;
öskranfossdœl ásetta
ískaldr reista dísasalr.

Grizzled grey-beard Frederick the Frisian advancer of honor, you sailed the warship from the lobster-slopes [OCEANS] to the Eastern lands.  You lead many testers of the battle eel [SWORD > WARRIORS] to the wild hills; you settled in the ice-cold valley of the roaring waterfall; you built a temple.

Verse Two:

from the Hœna flokkr eggja-gæzlumaðr


Hklaka mattigs óðar hylð þu
hauka tal þelli-hringa flokkr

Heppin bóru bana hœnaar
hviti-kjöt eggjaveðr mittings

Prose order:

Hlyð þu mattigs óðar hklaka-hauka; tal þelli-hringa flokkr. Heppen hviti-kjöt bóru mittings eggjaveðr bana-hœnar.

Translation:

Hear my mighty poem, Klucking-hawk; I tell of the fir-ring of the flock (>woman> chicken). Well-starred (>lucky, fortunate) white-meat (>chicken) brought a mighty edge-windstorm (>battle) to the bane of hens (fox).







Wednesday, June 15, 2011

An Early Runhendr: The Four at the Bridge


Hej!

Here's a little "ditty" for you in English from the legend and lore of Æthelmearc!

THE FOUR AT THE BRIDGE

At Coopers pond our scene
On field hill great ravine
battles twixt warring foes
dragons come tigers go
dwarves elves, aetheling men
fight on hill, then in fen
two bridges they must cross
and from them foemen toss
Four heroes join the throng
dance to valkyrie’s  song
brave Boris, Haakon's kin
with Oak tree tall, then thin
green Morguhn, duke soon knight
young Willem, Fridriks wight
to fight at Pennsic war
a bridge to bathe in gore
To battle dwarvelords here
who rose from Calontir
our four men form a host
a half-tonne of pot roast
fiercesome  fighters four
who out-fought many score
whom many feared and yet
in battle they can't get
Thru spear storm’s din they stood
no action turned the mood
beneath the sun's harsh stare
they broil to pot roast rare
they glare at Calon herd
who at our heroes jeer
til thrice-king angry roared --
By Thor! His Grace was bored!
On three, charge! Morguhn said!
On three, Duke Morguhn lead!
thru Calon wall they sped
dwarves fell neath Willem's tread
Binder detached a head
Boris laid the dead to bed
surly sword-elves fled
Norns snipped their ghastly threads

Bodies from bridgehead flew
of hammer-dwarves and crew
three stout swordsmen tried
to gain brave Morguhn's side
then marshall's whistle shrilled
twas time to count the kill
whence from the corpse pile fell
came giggles straight from hell!
That pile our heroes tore
dead heads they tossed and more
to find His Grace they sped
whose laugh fills all with dread
Out Dead Things marshall cried
waked corpses moved aside
but Yngvar's Bane denied
raise blades... I've Not Yet Died!
Thrice-king rose without sound
took his stance, held the ground
foes fell from mortal wound
some bled stumbled swooned
til thirteen dwarvelords came
with arrows spears took aim
cowards felled brave duke
thus honor they forsook
Battle quit, bridge lay red
with raven wine from dead
treasure wasted armies fled
bloodswans songs bring dread
bloodstorm ends with many slain
corpses burn, across the plain
O'er blood fest ravens play
fast fried heroes...have it your way!
Even comes battles ends
armies leave, foes now friends
all dead risen head home
some to camp, some to roam
to beer and mead and songs
to spouses, cheering throngs!
Join me in beery toast
to half-tonne of pot roast!


NOTES:


This poem was written in 2008, before I moved on to Old Icelandic poetry.  It is written in an Old Icelandic form called runhendr, In Old Icelandic and eddaic poetry, end rhyme scheme is seldom  considered necessary.  Indeed, in drottkveitt, or Court Poetry, end rhyme is never used purposefully.  However, there is a form of poetry common to Iceland that does use end rhyme, runhendt (runnng rhyme).  In The Structure of Old Norse Drottkveitt Poetry, Kari Ellen Gade says:


"Not until the end of the tenth century, in Egil's [Skallagrimsson] "Hoflauðsen" [Head-Ransom] does end rhyme play a constitutive part in skaldic metrics.  This new meter, runhendr, which consists of lines with four syllables dispenses with the internal rhymes altogether and replaces it with end rhymes..... It is clear that runhendr meter represented a bold break with the established norms for the composition of skaldic poetry, and that this innovation was most likely the result of foreign [most likely English or Irish] influence.”


It should be noted that in the Prose Edda, Snorri Sturlusson identifies many different types of runhendr, including one with six syllables in a line.  While runhendr is unusual in Old Icelandic poetry, it is far more accessible to modern ears than dróttkvætt. [See my earlier posting for an example in Old Icelandic of this verse form]

This poem is the story of a true event at Pennsic 13 or so, when a line of four men: Boris Dragonsbane, Haakon Oaktall,  Morguhn Sheridan, and Wilfred Altmarker - charged through a Calontir shield wall & died gloriously.  It is ever so slightly embroidered, as such legends become over generations of the telling.  The next to last verse is partially borrowed from the Magnusdrapa, where the poet speaks of ravens pulling corpses from a burning house (fast fried corpses).  It was just too good to pass up.  In the poem, I have used fewer kennings than might be expected, in order to keep the flow of the narrative intact.  Among those used are: 
spear storm - battle 
Yngvar’s Bane - Morguhn Sheridan (for the classic battles between the two great knights of Æthelmearc)
bloodswans - ravens
bloodstorm - battle 
blood fest - battlefield
raven wine - blood
half tonne of pot roast - the line of four fighters who tipped the scales at just over 1100 pounds. 

Enjoy!

Fridrikr

Monday, June 13, 2011

A Manuscript

Hej!

As some of you know or may have guessed, I've been working on a large project for some time now.  The poem is finished (until I decide to revise it --- maybe next year, definitely not before September) and ready for presentation in August.  It has been put into a manuscript by a very talented scribe name Jean Valentine (or, in the SCA, Matilda Bosville de Bella Aqua).  She calligraphed it in a proto-Gothic hand, following the various models that you can find in the Old Icelandic - Norse manuscripts of the  Arnamagnæan Institute.

This is the manuscript that Matilda produced.  Feel free to look, but not to download, please.



It is a beautiful piece and I'm looking forward to actually having it in my hands :)

Who knows, with his inspiring me (and having other paperwork I really should be doing), maybe the Muse will return from her little vacation this week!

Enjoy!








Friday, June 10, 2011

Dissolute Lifestyle, Part Three

Hej!


Back again, this time with an erfidrápa (a poem in praise of the dead) which I wrote about two years ago.  Once again, the subject is His Grace, Duke Sir Morguhn Sheridan, of whom I wrote in the previous posting.  This poem was an attempt to bring all of the qualities of the Icelandic dróttkvætt metre in English. This is a difficult task because English is largely an uninflected language, as opposed to Icelandic, which is highly inflected.  This can reck havoc when you are closely counting syllables.  You on't have flexibility in word order either.  A second hurdle is that accents in English often fall on the second rather than first syllable of a word.  This can make it difficult to follow the need for a trochee in the last slot in the line.


Despite these problems, I feel that I got this poem about right.  In it I present visions of Morguhn (winning crown the first time, becoming a duke, defeating the Calontir shield wall in the Charge of the Four, being knighted, the third crown in the East, ruling in AEthelmearc, facing death), much as a shield-poem would be constructed by taking the conceit of describing a decorated shield.


One final note - there are two stefs (four line choruses) interspersed in the poem.  Each ends with the line "Morguhns ǫnd ofar lǫndum".  This roughly translates to "Morguhn's spirit over the land."


Here is the poem.  I hope you enjoy and comment, please!



Morguhn drapa  inn Langferðamaðr
(Drapa for Morguhn the Long Road Walker)
(Pennsic 38, July-August 2009)
Met in boldest battle
Better sword not yet found
Great duke merry mighty
Morguhns ǫnd ofar lǫndum
Saw I flame haired fighter
Field stand never yielding
Brash youth green clad granted
Great knights swift deaths eight-fold
Fought from dawn til dark fall
Dragon tors'd fed corse hawks
Conquered Manfred mighty
Made Rowan his first queen
Saw I fiercesome fighters
forty seeking glory
Grass clad Morguhn mighty
Mowed down those who stood there
Met there turquoise tyger
Tribesman Randall gliding
Shadows minion stalwart
Stood til Morguhn slew him
Laughter rang out loudly
Light heart sang in bright eyes
Keep his memory mighty
Morguhns ǫnd ofar lǫndum
Saw I Dragon's doomsman
Delve lords guide to Hel's door
Crossing river's rock span
that roaring Calon horde kept
Four great giants joined there
Jarred loose rock-scarred foeman
Charging woeful warriors
Wedge from rock's edge threw them.
Saw I Pennsic pastures
Potent Gavin great king
Brought his knights to kneel there
Noble Morguhn summoned
Round his waist the white belt
Wedded spurs to high boots
Chain of gold was given
Green clad lord thus knighted
Saw I lord of leaf'd round
Longed to hear the swan's song
Soaring heaven highward
Hied to tourney's violence.
Verdant Morguhn met there
Mighty western belt-lord
Ronald's head was hewn there
High born Morguhn won crown.
Met in boldest battle
Better sword not yet found
Great duke merry mighty
Morguhns ǫnd ofar lǫndum
Saw I realm made royal
Ruled by Princes truly
Leaf clad leaf lord led them
Loved by clear-voiced Meirwen
Four times stood he stalwart
Staid by none nor laid low
Fairly reigned by right hand
Ring lord by his prowess
Saw I oak-strong Aethling
Evil's eye struck death blow
Stood the berry browed lord
Brave til battles ending
Long road walker wanders
Whither no wight follows
We go to join his journey
Gentle Morguhn leads us
Laughter rang out loudly
Light heart sang in bright eyes
Keep his memory mighty
Morguhns ǫnd ofar lǫndum

(The next time - another in "the Great Man" series)